


With the Breaking of the Shell

by Lokapala



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Not Really Wolves Because Star Wars, Psychic Bond, Psychic Wolves, That's Not How The Force Works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokapala/pseuds/Lokapala
Summary: Some people know that being a Mandalorian means somewhat more than holding citizenship in Mandalore Space. But most forget that in the past, it also meant sharing a bond with a psychic beast. But if some of those beasts still survive, what would that mean for the Clone Army?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	With the Breaking of the Shell

LAAT/i interior comm clicks. “ETA 5 minutes.”

 _\- angle of approach - projected lines of sight - arena center view - expected turbulence -_ The pilot’s knowledge propagates through the squad’s sense before he finishes speaking.

CC-0411 stares down at their General, fingers flexing on his _roya’vod’s_ nape. CC-6454 sits flush with his flank, her tail wrapped tight around her paws. Her mind is calm and full of certainty, maintaining a constant low-grade thrum of _ready, hunt, ready, hunt_ in the platoon’s awareness. He tries to find a balance between losing himself in the shared anticipation and maintaining the clear-headed distance he would need to temper and direct his _vode_. It’s hard. Their trainers told them that they were made for this - that going into battle under a Jedi’s command was their purpose - and yet… He does not feel adequately prepared for this mess of a mission now, and certainly was not ready for it a mere two days ago.

411’s attention slips and separates from their shared sense.

Two days ago he startled awake, his senses overwhelmed momentarily with _orange-red - jetpack fuel - smell of overheated power pack_ . The blare of the general alarm immediately interrupted his confusion, _vode_ around him awake and wincing too. All the _royavod’e_ in their dorm suddenly surged, growled and froze as the platoon’s - the company’s - the whole facility’s sense snapped into a clear and certain knowledge: _hunt - great hunt - grand war - begun_.

411 winces at the memory of the rushed pandemonium that followed. Their orders were to get ten regiments ready for immediate deployment, with the rest of the 1st Battle Army to follow within a day. It was a mad scramble to get enough ships checked and cleared to go, and the commanders’ ability to coordinate through _mir’dinu’am_ barely allowed them to achieve some semblance of order in time for boarding. They were given no briefing, no time to go over objectives, no formal introduction to their Generals - kriff, they discovered they were to be led by a single Jedi only after take off. At that moment they also learned two things: one, the Jedi had no plan and no idea how to lead them; two, the Jedi did not know about the _mankar’ta_ clones' existence, and seemed to be… concerned by them. 411 had a vague suspicion that the feeling was mutual, which made zero sense: human and _mankar’ta_ _vode_ trained together from the moment of imprinting, and both knew whom they were here to serve.

A strong smell of clean sweat and acrid sea salt fills his nostrils, a distant glow of dimmed nighttime lights blooming in his field of vision. 411 blinks, looks down at his _roya’vod_ and drags his fingers through her scruff, a vague question in their shared mind.

 _“You think of needless things.”_ She snorts quietly at him and pushes his awareness back into their platoon’s _mir’dinu’am_ , the shared sense tightly controlled and guided by her focus on _stillness before a leap_. 411 realises he’s still staring at their tiny General, and shifts his eyes to 6454, moving to pat her muzzle. She’s looking at the Jedi and 411 will later wonder if he truly saw her eyes flicker with a dark golden shine. They must’ve just caught a reflection of the blaster fire barrage that greets them as their LAAT/i screeches over the canyon wall and aligns towards the group of Jedi at the center of the execution arena.

The platoon’s _mir’dinu’am_ focuses on the surrounded Generals’ untenable position and flashes with potential approach patterns; the troopers readjust and prepare their weapons in sync with the strategy 411 pushes into focus, as...

“Around the survivors, a perimeter create!”

_\- leap -_

As they dive into their first real combat.

* * *

**_10 years ago_ **

Darth Sidious was a patient man - if not by nature, then certainly through application of will and thanks to some unpleasant training.

“Apologies, my Lord. I am but a construct, created to provide instruction to the acolytes of Korribani, Ziosti and Odessen Academies. As such, certain hard limits are imposed on me through my design. Amongst other things, I am unable to deviate from the rules and regulations of our Order; these include usage of titles such as Darth.”

Unfortunately, while a recalcitrant holocron shouldn’t have been much of an annoyance, there was a reason this non-sentient glorified database was kept in a Force-insulated strongbox. The artifact vault was currently smothered with enforced quiet-and-calm, Sidious’s mind struggling against childhood memories of teaching halls, admonishments from librarians and the singularly unpleasant experience of being escorted off the premises of a Jedi archive. He wondered if the holocron’s ability to control minds was flawed, perhaps weakened after millenia of disuse... or if the punishment of relieving one’s childish memories would’ve been more of a threat in the barbaric past.

“But otherwise, I am always delighted to fulfill my primary purpose, Lord… Sidious? My knowledge is at your full disposal, please, just ask.”

The notes he had retrieved, along with this holocron, from Plagueis’s archives put the lie to the construct’s obsequious behaviour. According to Sidious’s late master, while accepting a claim of membership in the Sith Order from anyone Force sensitive, the ancient holocron seemed to treat all queries as coming from a middling student who did not know their own limits, and flatly refused claims to titles and ranks other than “Lord”. Allowing himself a slight grimace, Sidious wondered if that was a result of the teaching holocron’s construction, or a reflection of the guardian template’s intellectual limitations.

“What do you know of ways to control a sentient mind, construct?”

The greyscale hologram of an old, heavily scarred Twi’lek shrugged, sending its flowing skirts and innumerous scarves aflutter in an invisible wind.

“Mind... control. Pardon me, but I learned Modern Basic by listening to several groups of grave robbers and resellers, and my internal translation process is still very much imperfect. Could my Lord specify the query in _Tsismuyât_ or, better, provide additional context in Basic?”

It was already so very quiet in the soundproofed vault in the depths of Coruscanti Works, and yet the incessant pressure of quiet-and-attentive that battered at Sidious’s shields somehow made it seem as though the generator powering the lights was buzzing right next to his ear. He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Imposing your will on a sentient. Replacing another’s will and intent with yours. Hiding a command in another’s mind. Taking another’s mind and making it yours.”

The Twi’lek shade smiled widely, clapped its beringed hands and bowed.

“Very good, my Lord! Unfortunately, my template did not dabble in the matters of education, preferred to recuse themselves from politics, and only lightly touched on any of the biotic sciences. If you wish, I could provide you with a list of references to specific works and authors from those fields - limited to what was known in my time, of course?”

“Your template, Lord Nox, was described as a Master of Ancient Sith Knowledge in every single work that references his life, construct. Surely…”  
  
“Ah, you know of them! Marvelous. Did their work on Marserha worship in the Lost Colonies survive to this day? Maybe their critique of the Yavin 4 temple layouts, that one was especially well received by the...”

With a flicker of Sidious’s fingers, the holocron powered down. The urge to sit quietly and pay attention abated only slightly, the Force in the room still thrumming with the will imbued into the construct by its creators. Sidious was reluctant to abandon this avenue of investigation, but with the Grand Plan in its final phases, he could not afford to deliberate on minute details for years anymore.

Every option he had for ensuring the Clone Army would play its part was flawed in different, but inconvenient ways. Indoctrination through flash training would be difficult to combine with training for the loyalty they had to present to the Jedi. It would have an unpredictable failure rate, and were the Jedi to attempt any oversight of the facilities, it was almost guaranteed to be uncovered too early. Not to even consider all the risk of information leaks through the trainers, cloners or even a rare resistant clone. It was also the option with the least personal oversight afforded to him. In short, it was not an option at all.

Biochips, implanted early in development, would be almost impossible to discover. A suitable explanation, such as “emotional regulation”, would be sufficient for the unlikely case of a clone that survived a battle with a head injury and was provided treatment. Such chips would guarantee precision and absolute control over the commands embedded in them. Unfortunately, said control would be afforded primarily to whoever had direct oversight over their production. Sidious did not have the time to supervise that personally, and his new apprentice was liable to try and use such access to further his own rise to power. Choosing another agent for that task ran the risk of insulting Tyranus too much too early, and increased the number of potential leakage points.

Any other technological means he considered were inferior to the biochips by every conceivable metric. Any agents replacing clones at the Jedi’s side, or a small set of clones put through special training, would run a severe risk of discovery through the Force, even if Tyranus did his job well and procured a Mandalorian template; as far as Sidious was aware, no proof existed of their mental shielding being fully inborn. As for the Force… none of the techniques he knew would provide the reach and precision he needed.

Sidious considered the holocron again. As he took a quiet moment to attend to his plans, the device’s feeble attempts to influence him through the Force faded away. His mind was now clear and focused on the task at hand; allowing himself a satisfied smile, he reactivated the holocron.

“Welcome, Acolytes, to the teaching holocron of Darth Ayy’Shakka, Head of the Sphere of...”

“Stop, construct. I need to create an army that will first serve my Force sensitive enemies, and then turn on them. I cannot afford any risk of the soldiers’ true objective to be perceived through the Force, and so they need to be truly loyal to my enemy, until the time comes for them to turn. Do you know of anything that could allow me access to such soldiers’ minds through the Force, to command them at any time and over great distances?”

The hologram took a deep bow.

“But of course, my Lord! Have you heard of the Mandalorian Clans and their _mankar’ta_ beasts?”

“They are all but extinct today, construct.”  
  
“Ah, such a shame! You see, my Lord, _mankar’ta_ are Force sensitive beasts; when they bond with a sentient, they gain the ability to expand said bonds in such a way as to connect the whole of a clan together in the Force - provided, of course, every clan member has a bond-beast of their own. The strength of that connection and its content are governed by the leader of the pack. During the Mandalorian Wars, Darth Revan the True pioneered the tactic of assassinating such a beast to destabilise or even rout an entire clan. If your generous gift of an army was to be such a pack, and you the only one in control over its leader… Why, you would have direct and unique access to those soldiers and their minds. And _mankar’ta_ bonded are known to be as well shielded in the Force as any raised under _Chwayatsithjontû_.”

Raised under Sith control? Sidious dismissed the construct’s claim that a Mandalorian would be equal in Force shielding to a disciple of the Sith Order. Perhaps if some of the legends were true and those beasts were Dark Side creations...? He would need to consult the rest of the archives - no, Tyranus could take over that part of preparations, it would mesh well with his main task.

“A certain Lord Plagueis once told me that the Empire I lived in is no more, but that its homeworlds were not destroyed. If my Lord could travel into the Stygian Caldera and reach the Dromund system, I am certain I can provide a reasonable guess as to where on the planet’s surface to go looking for now-wild packs of tuk’ata that could provide the genetic baseline needed to breed - or clone - your _mankar’ta_ away from the brink of extinction.”

* * *

**_4 years later_ **

“You will let them all go in at once, and they will be given all the time they need. No one but them should be allowed in, no scientists, no droids, and not you either, Nala.”

“We need to supervise -”

“What you need, Kaminii, is to fulfill your contract! You know the client left this part of the project under my discretion.”

17 chanced a glance at his brothers. 23, 7 and 15 were trying not to flinch at the template’s tone; 34, 75 and 13 were falling asleep on their feet; 52 stood at attention; 41 was very bored; 45 kept trying to get a glimpse of Nala Se’s datapad. This was supposed to be a test of their readiness for the next stages of training. Their squad was supposed to be on sleep rotation. They had been given no instructions.

...At least this was not the medical wing. And there would be no droids. 17 shuddered.

Nala put her comm away, did something on her pad, and the lights in the hall dimmed.

“Cadets, this is the next stage of your training. It is crucial you perform well. You will be given access to this training salle, and you will all go inside. Do not attempt to fight each other. Do not attempt to fight, resist or harm anything or anyone you encounter in the salle. Do not attempt to leave until a trainer comes to collect you. Go.”

The doors closed behind them. The salle was barely lit. Something moved in the shadows between training equipment. 17 thought he heard a snort, or a hiss. He and his batchmates stood still at the entrance. He really wanted to press his back to the door, or to grab someone's hand. This was bad. Their instructions were confusing, and confusing exercises meant punishment. Or a batchmate’s disappearance. Someone to his left whimpered.

17 tried to remember Nala Se’s instructions. They cannot leave until someone comes. No one would come until they complete the exercise? Probably. He bit his cheek, balled his fists and took a step forward.

Then another one.

Then another.

He stopped in front of a treadmill. Something was there, behind it. It was half his size, crouching at the corner, like… like an animal. He had seen those in training; “Examples of dangerous fauna of the Republic”. But they were told not to fight! His nails sunk into his palm.

“Behind you!” That’s 45. 17 tried to turn, but he wasn’t fast enough, there was an animal to his right, right there, it pushed against his side, but he wasn’t allowed to fight! Its head pushed into his elbow crease. It was very warm and very slick-but-dry to the touch. 17 dared not move. Was this the test?

His face felt warm, like under the UV lamps in hygiene facilities. It was warm, and air moved past him, and he smelled something... nice? Something unlike anything he had smelt before.

_“Hello there. I like you. Want to be aliit?”_

* * *

**_978 Galactic Standard, Geonosis_ **

“General?”

Mace startles from an exhausted reverie and turns to look at the clone commander that appeared at his shoulder.

“He’s an Alpha-class ARC, sir. They don’t talk. They are very good soldiers! Just, they can’t speak. Kaminoans say they were bonded too early.”

Mace frowns in momentary incomprehension at the commander and barely manages to stop his gaze from slipping towards the armoured beast crouched at the clone’s side. Then he realises that, amongst the dead bodies laid out on the hangar bay floor, there is a lone trooper kneeling with his arms around his animal companion.

“I see. Thank you for telling me, Commander…?”

“CC-0411 and CC-6454, sir!”  
  
Resigned, Mace allows himself to look at the animal trooper. The beast primly tucks its tail around its paws and stares back. After several seconds, it flickers a brow tendril and lolls its barbed tongue out, displaying an alarming amount of fangs as if in a parody of a smile. Perhaps satisfied with the interaction, it shifts, heavy claws clacking against the metal floor, and curls down around its human’s legs, eyes closed. Mace never put much thought towards the history and legends of Mandalore, but he’s certain that whatever else these beasts are, they are a subspecies of the tuk’ata. Somehow, nothing in the materials he’d requested from Temple Archives had prepared him for the sight of a Dark Side beast summarily dismissing him.

The clone shows no reaction to his beast’s behaviour. He stands at attention, a blank wall of scuffed armour. Mace looks at the expressionless visor of a dusty helmet and cannot think of anything better to say: “Does CC-6454 have a helmet?”

“She does, sir.” That sounded almost like CC-0411 smiled. “They… dislike them, and it impacts our performance. Several years ago our trainers revised regulations to allow for _mankar’ta_ to forego full armour under certain conditions.”

“I see.”

Mace wonders if he will ever become accustomed to how the troopers feel in the Force. If he even wants to. Both the commander and his beast are as easy to feel as any sentient life, but only as a presence. The Force tells Mace they are there, and alive, but there isn’t even a hint as to what the clone felt when talking. They are shrouded in a nested, layered web of connections, and if there is any knowledge of them in the Force, it is bound up in that impossible net.

He thinks he should say something, ask questions about their training, begin probing into the puzzle that is the clones’ existence, but Mace’s attention snags on their Force presence and he’s disconcerted, again. Their armour, the clone’s weapons, the floor they stand on - all have one weak point or more. But he can see none for their bodies, their minds, or their purpose. Mace truly does not want to deliberately seek such shatterpoints, but the complete lack of them is distractingly noticeable. The ARC trooper that was kneeling amongst the fallen troopers’ bodies, surely he felt grief? The commander in front of Mace cannot be indifferent to the losses they suffered. Mace is very certain this trooper could not have slept in the last 30 hours. There’s a faint smell of bacta lingering in the air, suggesting that he or the beast suffered some injury. But the Force shows nothing.

The _mankar’ta_ sniffs, stands up and heads off towards the lifts at a fast lope.

“All personnel on board and accounted for, General. Permission to begin preflight check?”

“Yes, of course, Commander.”

CC-0411 salutes and follows his beast towards the far side of the bay. Mace stays, absently looking at the trooper’s back. Mace trusts the Force, and it tells him these men are unique, sentient lives. Perhaps they are limited by the circumstances of their development, and they are disconcertingly obscured in the Force by those beast-bonds forced upon them. They are not a mass of faceless organic droids. But Mace does not need the Force to know that this is precisely what a lot of people will see. What the kriff was Master Sifo-Dyas thinking?

**Author's Note:**

> Mando’a:  
> roya’vod(e) - hunt brother(s)/sister(s)  
> vod(e) - brother(s)/sister(s)  
> mir’dinu’am - "shared mind", the psychic connection created by mankar'ta  
> mankar’ta - species name; implies they are the heart of Mandalorian culture/soul  
> aliit - clan/family
> 
> Old Sith:  
> Tsismuyât - name of the language, “Sith (the species) speech”  
> Chwayatsithjontû - Palpatine seems to think it means "Sith Order", and he should know, right?


End file.
